


Alright (I Love You)

by cellard00rs



Series: CSAC series [10]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Elevator Sex, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: Set sometime after ‘Champagne and Caviar’. Stan and Preston have a discussion about love and their relationship.





	Alright (I Love You)

“So, I’ve never heard you two say it to one another,” Ford remarks conversationally one morning, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Stan’s face is practically buried in his cornflakes and Preston is reading the financial pages in the paper. Stan’s made a lot of cracks about that, about how Preston has to go out of his way to actually purchase a newspaper as opposed to reading his news online like everyone else.

“He’s just that goddamn pretentious,” was Stan’s most common grumble and Preston’s most common response was to lift one eyebrow loftily and ignore him, albeit with a scowl on his face. Preston has a similar look on his face minus scowl as he noisily flicks the papers down to look Ford fully in the face, “I beg pardon – what have we not said to one another?”

“You and Stanley, I’ve never heard you tell one another ‘I love you’,” Ford supplies simply and Stan chokes, milk and flakes falling from his mouth and into his bowl. Preston’s nose wrinkles in disgust and he picks the paper back up, “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” Ford returns pointedly, “You tell me you love me ALL the time.”

“That’s because I do,” Preston returns smoothly, even if his cheeks tinge that tiny bit pink. Still, after all this time, still he seems  _shy_  about it. Ford loves that and can’t help but grin, “Yeah, I love you too, but I know you gotta love Stan too.”

Preston looks at Stan who just shrugs and resumes eating, never mind the fact that he regurgitated some of the food back into the bowl when he was choking, “He’s…alright.”

Ford frowns and turns his attention to Stan, “What about you?”

Stan just grunts and Ford rolls his eyes, nudging one of his twin’s legs under the table, “You love Preston, right?”

Stan sucks in a loud breath and sits up, “Sure. Course. Whatever.”

Ford looks between the two of them, sort of shell shocked, “Wait…do you-? Do you two  _not_ -?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” Preston returns, not unkindly, as he gets to his feet. He adjusts his tie and looks a little harried, “Your brother and I care for one another deeply and we all have a tacit agreement in regards to our polyamorous standing.”

“Oh ho, look at him,’ Stan snorts, forking his right thumb at him, “Dropping the ‘p’ word like it doesn’t make him internally hiccup.”

“Excuse me!” Preston cries, affronted, and Stan just offers him the most shit-eating smirk possible, “You said ‘polyamorous’ like it was no big deal, but you know deep down you damn near wet your pants when ya think about it. Being gay was bad enough, but being in a relationship with  _two_ guys,  _twins_  no less, that trips your ass up beyond belief.”

“It does n-! How dare y-!” Preston can’t even seem to get the proper words of his frustration out and he just groans, running one hand through his hair fussily, “This is ridiculous! I need to go anyway! I don’t wish to be late for work!”

Stan laughs again, “Ya hear that, Sixer? ‘Work’.”

Preston glares at him, “I’ll have you know I work just as hard as you! If not more so! I may not use my hands and muscles like some sweaty brute, but my work is just as labor intensive! It, however, requires the work of a very keen mind.”

“A mind that can’t even work out an ‘I love you’?” Stan returns coolly and he looks…thoughtful. And a thoughtful Stan is a very dangerous Stan indeed. Preston looks like he’s about to swallow his own tongue as he mutters, “Yes, well, mustn’t keep Bruce waiting.”

Preston pretty much flees after that and Ford looks at his brother, who’s returned to his cereal like there wasn’t a big outburst. Ford nudges Stan’s leg under the table again, gentler this time, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Stan asks mildly and he turns to his twin, resting one elbow on the table as he puts his chin on the palm of his hand, “Y’know…I love you.”

Ford smiles and squirms a little, pleasure running down his spine, “Love you too.”

“And I got some time before work…”

Ford huffs out a breath, “What? You want to fool around?”

Stan’s head darts forward and he presses a quick kiss to Ford’s lips before offering him a wink, “Always.”

Ford laughs and shakes his head, “Sure. Why not? My first class isn’t until eleven.”

“Race ya to the bedroom!” Stan returns as he pretty much leaps from his seat.

 

+

 

Stan hums to himself to the music coming from his iPod as he walks into the shiny, glass and chrome building. It’s polished beyond belief and so damned stuffy he wants to tug at his white shirt collar, but he resists the urge. The woman behind the reception desk is the picture perfect case of the cool, tall blonde, the kind that Hitchcock guy was so obsessed with. She eyes Stan balefully behind her stylish black glasses as he removes his earbuds and gives her a smirk, “Hey.”

“Here for a repair?” she asks stiffly.

“Manner of speakin’,” Stan chuckles, making sure to chew the bubblegum he has in his mouth in the most obnoxious way possible, just to set her teeth on edge. He got off work a few hours ago and he knows  _exactly_  how he looks. He’s got his long hair pulled into a ponytail, an unbuttoned red flannel hanging lose over his dirty white shirt, jeans, and big, clunky worker’s boots. He scratches at one side of his face, just to highlight his own stubble as he grins, “Wonderin’ where I might find Northwest.”

The blonde clears her throat primly, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Don’t need one. I’m his roommate.”

She lets out something between a scoff and a dry laugh and she would actually be pretty hot if she wasn’t such an ice cold bitch, “Mister-?”

“Pines.”

“Ah, Mister Pines, I’m afraid I cannot permit you to simply enter the building and contact-”

“Give ‘im a call. He’ll ask for me to come up,” Stan assures her and it’s clear she’s getting flustered, color rising into her cheeks and he wonders if she’s about to summon security or some such bullshit when behind him he hears a shocked, “Stanley?”

Stan turns to see Preston entering, leather briefcase in one hand, suit all pressed and cleaned and perfectly pristine, just like this whole goddamn building. An icon of the rich and the elite. Stan grins and throws his arms open wide, making sure to be as loud as possible, “Hey! If it that ain’t my dear ol’ roomie! How ya doin’, you ol’ son of a bitch!”

Preston looks beyond horrified and it’s hard for Stan not to double over with laughter. Instead he charges up and throws an arm around Preston’s shoulder, pointing to him as he regards the receptionist, “Guess I didn’t need you help after all, huh, toots?”

The woman in question looks seconds away from having a coronary as she gets to her feet, “Mr. Northwest! I-!”

“It’s…it’s quite alright, Margaret,” Preston motions for her to resume her seat, “I’ll-ah-take it from here.”

Margaret does as she’s told and Preston breathes in deep, shaking his head even as he shrugs his way out of Stan’s grip, “Well then! If you must, come.”

“What? Right here?” Stan jokes, wriggling his eyebrows and Preston’s face is a sight to see. And Stan thought he was going to laugh before. Now? Now he can’t help the choked noise of amusement that leaves him, because Preston just looks so  _scandalized_. He’s seen that look on Ford too, but there’s something about the way Northwest’s face does it that’s just…priceless.

Preston manages to find his voice, “No! I meant, c-come as in, come along. Please.”

“Anything you say, my prince,” Stan teases and gets an eye roll for his trouble. He follows Preston to a super shiny, super fancy elevator. Stan bets it’s so posh they call it a ‘lift’ instead, just wanting to make it  _that_  level of pompous. The whole ‘let’s-pretend-we’re-extra-classy-and-European’ thing and when its doors ding open the inside…well, shit, the  _inside_.

Sometimes it’s almost disgusting how the wealthy live.

This elevator is bigger and finer than some apartments he’s seen. It’s all plush crimson carpet, amazing lighting, and the interior walls look like they’re marble. Thick black handrails with padding wrap around the inside and Stanley’s never felt poorer as he steps inside. 

How is it an  _elevator_  can make him feel broke as shit? No wonder Preston damn near dies every time they get in the apartment building’s elevator. It’s a complete piece of trash next to this – how does the guy manage stepping away from all this opulence every day and returning to their crummy place?

But then Stan remembers how Preston’s rich life isn’t so rich – what with his shit Dad and all…

And maybe, just maybe, his somewhat exasperating roommate, because as soon as the doors close, Preston turns to him, eyes narrowed, “What on earth are you  _doing_  here, Stanley!”

“What? I can’t visit my roomie at his place of business?”

“Stop saying ‘roomie’ like that! It’s infuriating!”

“Oh? My tone of voice botherin’ you?” Stan asks casually before he blows a big pink bubble with his gum. Preston looks like every inch of his skin is crawling as he punches the button for the highest floor, “ _Yes_. Although, truth be told, it is the  _least_ infuriating thing you’ve done today!”

Stan pops the bubble and sucks it back into his mouth, jaw working hard as his eyes cast off to one side and he mutters, “Yeah. Well. I am just ‘alright’, after all.”

Preston does a double take, visibly blinking, but Stan doesn’t look his way, just cool as a cucumber, “You wanna to talk about ‘tone’…”

“Wait, is  _that_  why you’re here?”

“Ding, ding – we have a winner, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I…” Preston seems at a loss for words, grappling with what to say, “Am I to take it I hurt your feelings?”

“He was right,” Stan grumbles, eyes casting down to his feet, still chewing away at his gum, “Ya ain’t ever said it to me.”

“Oh ho! As if  _you’ve_  said it to  _me_?” Preston cries, outraged, and Stan finally looks at him, clearly heated as he smacks the emergency stop button in the elevator, grinding its upward ascent to a halt as he jabs a finger in his face, “I’ll be damned if I say it to you first! What with the way you so easily drop it for Ford, who, I might add, I loved way before you did!”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Stan rolls his eyes and takes his gum out of his mouth. He pointedly sticks it to one of the walls despite Preston’s abortive noises of disgust before he scrubs both hands up and down his face just to highlight his annoyance, “It has to do with everything! It has to do with when this whole relationship started! I told you two I wasn’t sure if it’d be a good idea ‘cause I ain’t generally the sharin’ type and then we-we  _shared_  and it turned out it  _was_  something I was able to do. Hell, it’s become something I find I can’t live without, but then some time passes and come to find out, it’s actually  _you_  who can’t share and I guess that ain’t a shocker, ‘cause you Richie Rich types tend to be selfish as fuck and-!”

“Stanley,” Preston cuts in sharply, “you are not making any sense whatsoever!”

“Oh, FUCK YOU!” Stan thunders and he shoves Preston hard, so hard he drops his briefcase and smacks back against one wall of the elevator, “I’m making  _perfect_  sense! You love Ford, but not ME!”

The declaration is loud and bitter and Preston’s whole body feels tight, agony lacing throughout his system as Stan damn near crumples up, expression wretched beyond belief. Preston runs a hand through his hair and does his best to make his voice as gentle as possible, “Stanley…that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Stan snorts, kicking at the ground and he shakes his head, tone rueful. “I mean, guess I should be used to it by now. People always love Ford more’n me. Doesn’t even matter if I’ve known ‘em longer…they meet him and they’re just…”

He waves one of his hands helplessly, “I mean, I  _get_  it. I do. He’s smart – brilliant. This shining star of genius and ingenuity. This unique, six-fingered miracle and, I mean, shit, I’m pretty much the person who  _invented_  loving Ford. Even when he’s an arrogant shit, even when he’s insensitive and borderline cruel, I love the fuck out of him and god knows I ain’t ever gonna love myself, but him? Him I love more than anybody, anything, on his whole fuckin’ planet. Or so I thought. Then  _your_  stupid ass comes along…”

“Stanley…”

“And I legitimately hated you first time we met. Hated you ‘cause of the trouble you were givin’ Ford. I hated you and I fought with you and I thought you’d  _never_  change. Have a hard time believin’ in that. Believing in change and that’s just another thing about myself I don’t like and I thought Ford was full of crap when he said you had and I thought I’d hate you and fight you forever and then…”

“Pines,” Preston tries, voice more imperious, closer to the voice he used to use back when they were at odds and this is what finally gets Stan to stop, to look back at him and Preston has straightened himself up, “Am I to take it that you  _are_  going to say it first? Or will you allow me to get a word in?”

That stops Stan dead and he looks at Preston who looks, slightly uneasy, his hands down at his sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as he draws in a loud breath through his nose, “Telling Ford I love him  _is_  easy. This I’ll grant you. You must understand…I was very well shaped by my background. Rafe…my time with him, however short, had a deep impact on me. After him, I resolved myself to a life of solitude.”

“Not a life of being ‘straight’?” Stan can’t help but ask, finger quoting the last word.

Preston shakes his head, “No, I…I will admit I did my best in that regard. Had things continued on in such a course, it is completely possible I would have found a woman to bind my life to. I would have done as my father wished and buried myself beneath layers of lies and personal deception. But inside, in my core, my heart…I would have been alone. Again, solitude. I believed myself settled on that path and then I met your brother and everything changed. I found I was still attracted to my own sex and it might have all been well and good had I been able to merely avoid him, to deny myself, but…I couldn’t. I was drawn – moth to flame.”

He smirks suddenly as if amused by a long ago memory, “I did my very best to hate him. I was cruel and a bully and went out of my way to cause him harm, but Ford…he reached out to me. He saw past my mask and reached out and I found myself reaching back. And thus it was easy to fall for him. To love him and that’s why I say it with such ease. He saved me from a disastrous route, a life where I would have been lying to myself.”

Stan’s just about to point out that all this does is just prove his point when Preston narrows his eyes at him, “And then there was  _you_. My clear rival for his affections and how perfect was it? How ironic that you should remind me so very, very much of my first lost love. At first, it was Ford who I thought reminiscent of Rafe, but you? Much more so. It was as if my past and future were coming to blows.”

“I ain’t like-!”

“You’re a hard worker,” Preston cuts in smoothly, “You don’t take any of my, to use your phraseology, ‘bullshit’. You’re roguishly handsome-”

“That I’ll take,” Stan chuckles but Preston goes on as if he didn’t interrupt.

“-and you fight with me. Push me to be someone better than I am, whether verbally or physically. You’re a genuine article. There’s no artifice with you. You are, in all ways, the exact opposite of the people I am supposed to consort myself with. Ford would fit well within my world, we’ve seen that. He might be a bit…awkward at times, but his intelligence sees him through. You? You’re practically another species.”

“…is that a compliment or-?”

This gets a dark laugh, “It is the best compliment I have ever given. You’ve met my father – you know his opinions, his beliefs. You fly in the face of all that. You’re not wealthy, not elegant; not at all part of the upper crust world that I’ve been bred to be part of. You don’t fit within the refined tapestry of the higher elite. You’re the match that burns all that down, strips it away and makes us all return to the dirt from whence we came and I…”

He seems damn near breathless now, eyes glittering with unshed tears, “I  _yearn_  for that. Yearn for the freedom you can give me. The  _release_. The chance at happiness and I want to say it to you. I do, but it’s so…terrifying. You  _terrify_  me…because I feel so strongly for you I can barely breathe.”

The air between them is thick with silence and with…something.  Something heady and raw and Preston blinks the tears away as he goes to push the button to start the elevator again only for Stan to shake his head and stop him. Stan grabs Preston’s arm and shakes his head even as he ushers Preston back against one of the walls and starts kissing him.

Preston lets out a watery groan as Stan’s tongue easily invades his mouth, as it coaxes his own tongue to answer and Christ, Stan always tastes so  _good_.  This rich, warm taste that’s impossible to classify. That’s simply Stanley and Stan burrows himself closer to his body, pushes him against one of the walls and Preston lets out a weird huff of laughter, suddenly exhilarated. It’s so like that moment he shared long ago with Rafe, that bewildering sense of  _relief_.

Tension spooling out of him and feeling light and  _happy_. Happy to have this, this thing he’s always wanted. Love. It’s  _love_. It doesn’t need to be spoken, just felt and Preston  _feels_  it. Feels it even as Stan draws back to growl against his lips, “You’re gonna say it first.”

It’s a threat, but a playful one, and Preston finds himself so damned eager that if he had a tail it’d wag, “We shall see.”

The tone is boastful and Stan snarls, reaching down to grasp Preston’s hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise and he gets a heated whimper for his trouble. Stan can’t believe all that shit Preston said. It’s got his heart beating triple time. No one’s ever said anything like that to him. Well, Ford has, sure – but he never hoped or expected to hear from anyone else. Hell, it’s probably how the three of them ended up in this relationship in the first place.

And Stan can still admit this wasn’t what he wanted. Not originally. Originally he’d just wanted Ford and that was that. And he’d been perfectly happy with Ford. Complete and content. And then  _this_  idiot. Christ. Sometimes Stan has no idea how he ended up here and other times he knows exactly how, but overall he really doesn’t give a shit either way, because he’s just so happy to be in this weird situation where he’s got so much goddamn love in his life he’s drowning in it.

He doesn’t think he’s worthy of it, to be honest. Doesn’t think he deserves it. But apparently not one, but  _two_ , people are crazy enough to think he does and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of that. Doesn’t enjoy the hell out of it, because he’s so goddamn grateful for it and he urges Preston to wrap his legs around him, urges him to open up and Preston does and their crotches line up perfectly, rubbing together with just the right amount of friction that their mouths break apart, moans echoing off the elevator walls.

“This what you want, my prince? Huh?  _This_?” Stan’s actions ask the question better than his words, his whole body hitching up, rutting against Preston’s and Preston’s head falls back, knocking noisily against the elevator wall behind him as his mouth drops. It’s so good, so rough and pure, and he can’t help but picture both of them nude, picture what it might be like for Stan to drive deep into him and  _ohhhh_ …

Preston finds his teeth feasting on his own lips, trying to stifle his cries as he nods and Stan chuckles, the sound making all the tiny hairs on Preston’s body stand on end. That chuckle – god, so husky, so attractive. It’s smoky and dark and it curls around Preston, making his heart squeeze with emotion. He cranes forward, needing Stan’s mouth again and then they’re kissing again, lips locked in heated combat as much as their bodies.

They strain up against one another, grinding with abandon and muffled whines rise up from Preston as a sort of madness takes him - he grips at Stan’s hair, one hand wrapping around his ponytail to tug – hard. Stan makes a grunted sound of pained pleasure as he drags his mouth from Preston’s, gasping ‘son of a bitch’, before tilting his head to one side, his teeth latching on to the right side of Preston’s throat. Now it’s Stan’s turn to be hard, to hurt, as he clamps down, biting roughly, and Preston lets out a high pitched squeal of ecstasy that’s  _obscene_.

Stan will never understand how Preston manages to pull off those porno sounds without sounding stupid. No, the sounds he makes, no matter how fervent, always seem to link up straight to Stan’s dick, making him so hard he feels like he going to fucking bust his fly. Preston returns his grip to Stan’s ponytail, tugs until Stan releases him. Preston meets his eyes, face accusatory even as he pants, “You  _neanderthal_! That’s going to leave a  _mark_!”

“Good,” Stan hums, licking the spot he bit and he can feel Preston’s whole body shiver in his arms, “Maybe I wouldn’t’ve done it if you’d just said those three little words.”

“You’re…you’re trying to use…sex,” the word slips out and is almost immediately replaced with, “ _seduction_ , to try and get a declaration from me?”

“Whatever it takes,” Stan smirks and he pointedly rubs his erection against Preston’s again. Preston closes his eyes tightly and drags in a shaky breath, “It-it won’t work! This won’t-!”

“Told you,” Stan licks at the bite again, kissing it gently, “You’re gonna say it first.”

“…never,” Preston manages, but it is not at all convincing and Stan is just growing more confidant by the second, “Aw, come on…you know you wanna say it.”

Preston’s whole face is flushed, but he shakes his head valiantly. Stan simply lets out another one of those smoky chuckles, “Mmm, maybe it’s all these clothes in the way. Yeah…I’d say that’s a problem…”

Stan slowly lowers Preston to the ground, but Preston still needs to lean back, needs to rest against the handrails of the elevator, knees trembling as Stan easily strips him of his suit jacket before his thick fingers reach up to curl beneath Preston’s tie. Stan easily tugs the knot loose, edging it down, but not off, not entirely. Instead he uses his grip to tug Preston forward, to kiss him again.

Their lips lock and unlock with wet, slippery clicks, their tongues openly caressing one another before coming closer, deeper, fully divulging into one another’s mouths. Preston reaches for Stan’s flannel, tries to make it slump as softly to the floor as his jacket did, but Stan just reaches out and grasps both his wrists, pinning him back against the wall.

“Keep ‘em up there,” Stan commands with heat and Preston’s eyes close tight, those words, that tone… _fuck_ …

Stan’s hands skim over his white dress shirt as he huffs, “What have we here…”

He tugs Preston’s shirt free from the confines of his black dress slacks and then reaches up under the material, rough palms coasting over bare flesh. Preston keeps his hands up and his eyelashes flutter, the feeling of Stan’s touch unbearable. He wants to touch back. But Stan told him not to and a needy whine leaves him. Stan smirks, hands rising higher, material bunching up until he reaches Preston’s nipples.

His thumbs brush teasingly over the flat discs. He uses the barest hint of his nails to scratch along the sensitive brown tips and Preston makes that sound again, this time in a higher pitch. Stan mutters a heated curse under his breath as he goes to the bite mark again, kissing it even as he continues to relentlessly toy with Preston’s nipples.

Their hips meet again, grinding once more and Preston’s head moves from side to side as he breathes out, “Please,  _ohhhh_ …”

“Please?” Stan asks so innocently, as if he doesn’t know that he’s slowly but surely driving his partner mad. Preston moans, “C-can’t-! Need! M-More,  _MORE_ , please…”

“More what?” Stan grins against his skin and Preston finally just surrenders, lowering his hands to Stan’s shoulders and pushing him back. Pushing him away so his hands can dive down to Stan’s belt and Stan catches up his hands with his own, “Whoa, whoa, there. What do ya think you’re doing?”

“Need to touch you,” Preston gasps, “Let me. I…I want to show you. Show you how much I-“

“How much you-?” Stan encourages him and Preston pouts, “No need to tell you when I can show you.”

“Oh no, I’m not letting you get the upper hand. ‘Upper hand’…” Stan repeats with clear amusement as he releases Preston and zeroes in on his belt, clearly deciding that he had the right idea albeit the other way around. 

He unbuckles Preston’s belt with ease, tugging it loose and tossing it aside. He unzips his slacks and lowers his pants just enough to reveal Preston’s bright blue boxer briefs. Briefs straining to contain Preston’s erection and Preston presses the back of his right hand to his mouth, teeth gnawing slightly on his knuckles.

“My, my…this all for me?” Stan asks; his tone far from innocent as he reaches in to cup Preston, to give him a gentle but firm squeeze. Preston’s response is muffled, but ardent, and Stan sighs, “Surprised you got such bold undies on under all this stiff, formal stuff. It’s like you were expectin’ me…”

“I-I think I would wear something a little more, ah,  _enticing_ than simple boxers had I known this was going to take place.”

“Yeah? Like what? Silk? Lace?”

Preston’s expression almost shatters the mood, Stan wanting to draw away to just  _laugh_. His face is so red, so  _embarrassed_. But Stan also sees the glint of something in his eyes…interest, perhaps? The idea of Preston in fancy panties is…surprisingly hot. Then he thinks of Ford in a similar get up. The two of them…in pretty, delicate under things…

…but that’s for another time. This time, Stan focuses on working Preston fully free from his clothing, briefs and slacks pooling around his feet and he’s exposed to the air, firm and full, dick jutting up proudly even if Preston’s face is less than proud. No, he looks…aroused and shy and just exactly the way Stan wants him to look. Stan rises up and gives Preston a kiss before whispering, “How do you want this to go? My mouth? My hands? Both?”

“H-h-hands…I’ve always admired…”

“Thought they were dirty knuckle draggers.”

“I never-!”

“Way back before we started. You said it ta needle Ford.”

Preston’s eyes narrow, “Your memory is disgustingly accurate.”

“When I want it ta be. Most of the time I can’t remember shit,” Stan happily taunts even as he takes Preston in one hand, gently stroking his whole length up and down once, just once so he can savor how Preston’s breathing hitches, how he curls closer to him. 

It’s hot in the elevator - a sweltering, gauzy sort of heat enclosing them like a fist. Stan tuts as he runs his fingertips idly up and down every thick inch of Preston’s cock, “Shame ain’t got nothing to make this smoother. Probably just gonna have to do this the old fashioned way…”

He makes an atrocious sound, one clearly implying that he’s collecting up an appalling amount of spit. Preston chokes in his hurry to stop him, “ _No_! My bag! Left hand pocket!”

Stan’s eyebrows rise, but he follows instructions. Not, of course, before he makes a big show of swallowing down what he collected, making Preston wince. Stan finds a small bottle of hand lotion in the bag and waggles it in front of him, “You want me to use this?”

“It...it will be sufficient, yes?”

“This what you normally use it for?” Stan can’t help himself, the joy in tormenting Preston too much fun to pass up, “You sneak off from big board room meetings to go and get yourself off?”

“I-! I’ve nev-never-!” he’s damn near shrieking it like a horrified matron and Stan’s done this to Ford too. For god’s sake, these two. So easy to get all worked up. He’d like to see them get him that way but, oh no, wait – he has no shame. Or certainly very little as he squirts out an insane amount of the lotion on to his hands.

The scent of lavender fills the air and it makes Stan’s lips twitch upwards, “Bet this smell’ll get you hard from now on. Every time you get a whiff, you’ll think of this. Think of me.”

The grey in Preston’s eyes seems to ignite, growing into a sure fire as he tugs Stan closer, making him drop the bottle, his hands sort of up in an awkward posture as he murmurs, “I may. Given I’m  _with_  you.”

Preston’s mouth captures Stan’s and he’s sort of struck dumb for a moment, hands still up, a bit lost as to what the hell just happened. Where did this bravado come from? He was confident he had Northwest on the ropes, but now…

But then, Northwests are notorious for getting what they want – aren’t they? Clearly this is true because Preston’s fingers are nimble, his moves quick and is motive clear as he tears through Stan’s belt, his pants and drawers and soon enough Stan is exposed to the air too. 

And Stan is just as thick and hard and desperate. Stan gets it now and smiles into the kiss he’s still sharing with Preston as his hands lower, as he bodily pushes them back against the wall again and he gets a good grip on both of them.

Their groans intermingle as Stan starts pumping them. It’s a little strange at first, it requires some wrangling, but soon their lengths are matched up, sliding slickly against one another thanks to the lotion. The curve of Stan’s hand cradles them together, making a perfect pocket of friction. 

Preston surges up into the touch, the feel. He sloppily steals kisses now and then, even as he moans like he’s dying and Stan looks at him, looks at his expression and closes his eyes, leaning their foreheads together, “You want me with you…I’m- _fuck_!-I’m with you, Pres…my prince…”

“Stanley…Stanley, d-darling,  _darling_ …this is so…you’re so-!” The ‘o’ gets dragged out, becomes something of a wail as Stan increases the pressure, the speed, his eyebrows knitting together because he has to concentrate, has to stay focused because god, when Preston calls him that stupid nickname it’s damn near impossible not to lose his load.

But he doesn’t want to cum first, he refuses to and he keeps up the pace, licks his way into Preston’s mouth and they’re kissing and rocking against one another and it’s not exactly perfect, but it’s just right and then Stan feels a flood of heat, feels wet ropes of cum emerge from the satiny tip of Preston’s dick.

And Preston’s making these deep, wounded sounds as if they’re being dragged from him, as if the pleasure is killing him and Stan sure feels like his is, his heart hammering hard as he loses himself to his own orgasm, stars exploding behind his eyelids.

For a while, the elevator is nothing but hushed, heavy breathing. The air humid, the scent of sex and lavender strong and Preston can’t help himself as he says on a weak exhale, “Alright…I love you.”

Stan draws away and instead of looking pleased he looks…subdued.

Preston frowns, not sure what’s wrong until Stan removes his flannel and wipes his hands and himself on it before saying dryly, “Well, shame I had to use sex to get it out of you. But the sentiment’s appreciated regardless.”

Preston rolls his eyes, his body too boneless ( _Ha! It is now_ , Stan would probably say if he breathed that aloud) to work up any other kind of reaction, “Stanley Pines, I  _do_  love you, but you are an  _idiot_. It is not our recent interaction that got me to admit my feelings. I would have said so in a much more, ah, romantic context had you not accosted me and implied that getting my confession at this time was some..some sort of sexy game.”

“What? You sayin’ you were going to say it some other time?”

“Yes,” Preston offers but his eyes dodge from side to side, “Eventually.”

Stan gives him a sour look and Preston wants to remark about how he’s ruining the afterglow. However, he instead straights up and tries to put himself in order before continuing. Stan offers him the soiled flannel but he ignores that, going for his briefcase. He finds a small packet of tissues and does his level best to right himself.

Once tucked away and cleaned (as much as he is able), he returns his attentions to Stan, who is also somewhat righted and better prepared to bear this conversation, “Look, I shall admit your earlier remarks were not completely unfounded. I never said it to you, but as I was explaining before things became, ah, heated – you’re very different from Ford. It’s…harder with you and I don’t mean that in a bad way before you take it as such.”

Stan had been about to take it as such, mouth open to protest, but Preston barrels on, “It is harder because you are an entirely different beast from your brother. One I find harder to tame, harder to compel. You claim Ford is easy to love and that others love him so easily, but the same is true for you and don’t you shake your head at me!”

With that motion rebuked, Stan tries to make his expression demonstrate how ridiculous that claim is, but Preston is set and determined, “People are drawn to you, Stanley. It’s how you sell your music, how you get attention – your innate charisma. You charmed  _Rick Sanchez_  for god’s sake. Your own brother! How can I compete with that? How can I, when I’m just…”

Preston waves a hand weakly and Stan’s face drops into something more incredulous, “Yer…yer jokin’, right? You’re Preston Northwest.”

“Yes, I’m a Northwest and you and your brother have both seen – up close and personal – how bad that is. How….how unglamorous it is,” he sighs and rubs at his face, “My family has put a glossy sheen on themselves, their history – but you know the truth. You both do. The nitty, gritty, dirty truth. As now, do I. So yes, I love you…but for you to love me…”

He licks his lips and looks so doubtful that Stan wants to say something but finds himself sort of stuck. Preston, possibly sensing that, goes to the elevator button and clicks it, starting it up again. The ride is smooth and silent and then Stan manages to unstick, looking at Preston fully as he says roughly, “Alright…I love you too.”

Preston turns and looks at him, sort of surprised and one corner of Stan’s mouth twitches as he turns and regards him fully, hands buried deep in the pocket of his jeans, “You never had to compete with nobody, Pres. Not really. But…I’ll admit my own reasons for holding back and it had nothing ta do with who you are or who your family is and everything to do with my own. My own worries and my own family ‘cause I never…I never wanted to love anybody but Ford.”

“I know,” Preston says solemnly and Stan nods, “And I know you know. But you should know too that you…I couldn’t  _help_ myself. Falling in love with you...’cause you’re better than your family and the person you used ta be. So…y’know,” he shrugs, “I love you, alright?”

Preston looks at him and slowly, very slowly, a warm smile takes his face, his cheeks turning pink, “I love you as well.”

“Good. Got that settled.” Stan murmurs and he walks over to the gum he stuck on the wall earlier, tugging it loose so he can pop it back into his mouth. Preston makes a face and Stan laughs, “Hey, don’t forget…you said you loved me first.”

“Good lord,” Preston grumbles but then he can’t help but grin because, well, he does.


End file.
